The Importance of Hope
by tatooineknights
Summary: The young Jedi Knight was just defeated by Lord Vader. Instead of giving in to the ruthless demands of his victor, Luke Skywalker chooses to jump - but was this a jump of faith or a jump to his own death? How important is hope when the surrounding world has crashed downward? How far will one go to survive?


The force of wind is all that can carry the remnants of Luke Skywalker's tattered body and aching soul.

He is spinning all around the shaft, falling to his supposed death, wanting so desperately to scream in a blend of open defiance and a dirge for what was left of his dreams. The Jedi tried – he opened his mouth against the pockets of wind that blew him around, but his throat was too sore to let his voice carry, the chords that connected to his thoughts shot and fatigued like the rest of him. The lights of the reactor are all blurred into one frantic image of chaos, shining out above and below him, calling him to crash into the deadly end that he thrust himself into.

It wasn't the only choice given to him. No, the young Jedi apprentice could have delivered himself to his villain, knelt and bowed to his victor, and offered protection from the word of his sworn enemy; he also could have allowed that scarlet lightsaber to make one final swipe, ending his precious life there and then. Luke chose to make that leap of faith – through that tormented and wrecked shell he called a brain, he chose this path and willingly embraced whatever destiny he faced.

Was it a death of his own choice, or, perhaps, the chance of survival against all odds? He couldn't even describe it himself; it was just something that he had to do, anything to get away from Darth Vader. The billowing winds danced around his fatigues and made him flail around and spin through the air, feeling the assurance of the Sith Lord's presence fading with every foot he dropped.

Every second he felt safer, there was a more prominent amount of pain flowing through him.

There wasn't just one open pain. That would be all too easy to shut out; no, these were constant and stabbing pains that cut right from his gut and cut all around, right from the heart, and lunging out to his arms and piercing into the brain. He wasn't ready to die just yet – he thought he was, but as he continued to fall, he wondered of all the possibilities out there that remained awaiting him.

The chance to finally purchase his own vessel, separate from the X-Wing that the Rebel Alliance had granted him use for, and having the opportunity to fly and explore the wide expanses of the galaxy. That was always his initial goal – things got a bit lost along the way as he slowly embraced the powers that surrounded him, yearning to a parental figure he couldn't even remember, desperate for a past he knew little about. Those older thoughts were that of a child.

Learning the ways of the Force and accepting the teachings of the ancient Jedi Order gave him purpose even outside of his role within the Rebellion. It grounded that naïve boy that had just escaped his trap of a home known as Tatooine, shaping him into the strong, resilient, and honorable man that he had now become. Just a few hours, he would have been proud of himself.

Now, he was flung out into the jaws of death and clung to the hope of salvation, his hand missing, and the prized possession of the Skywalker line stripped from him. There wasn't any obvious beacon of light that would guide his way back, no friendly mentor that lend a helping hand. He was on his own.  
If this were to be the end, at least it would be the end of all that. That is how Luke Skywalker wanted to go out – as a defender of goodness, the forbearer of the Jedi arts.

Not as the son of his most hated nemesis, a pretender to his claim as a Knight.

A loud suction grappled onto his legs, twisting him back and sending him into a narrow tunnel, narrowly escaping the certainty of death from his fall. Maybe this was a better idea than he had foreseen. Luke closed his eyes as the tunnel surrounded him, grunting and heaving as the push of the wind stopped and he became the plaything of gravity and inertia, bumping into the walls, floor, and ceiling as he tried his hardest to dig his heels into the metal, slowing his tumble into a stop.

"I'm alive."

He thought to himself as he rolled still on his back, lying still for a solid minute as he began to feel his senses return to him. Sweat dribbled down from his forehead and landed gently onto his bottom lip, the saltiness of it reminding him of his ability to feel and taste; the ringing in his ears slowly easing themselves away from that pervading noise, replaced by his own shallow and labored breathing. "I'm alive," he whispered aloud, sitting up from his position, the dead weight of his maimed arm making it difficult from him to rise. Then, the foul stench of his own cooked flesh filled his nostrils, reminding him of the severity and grievousness of his wound and the ramifications of his hasty actions.

Luke lifted his right arm with his left, slowly pulling back the burnt edges of his sleeve to reveal the sight of what remained of his right hand. He groaned as he stared at the open stump, muscle and tissue sealed in total blackness as a jagged bone hung evenly out, retching at the disgusting view and nausea collecting and spinning his head. The Jedi shook his head and turned his cheek, carefully pulling the jacket back down and covering the wound from his sight, squeezing down on the stump with his left hand to staunch any leftover bleeding.

"You're in bad shape, Luke," he thought to himself, nursing the arm close to his left breast and tucked firmly beneath his armpit, looking up and around as he took in the environment that fate had left him to. "But you've still got all five of your senses. You were able to survive a duel against one of the greatest swordsmen and villains this universe has ever seen; and, despite it all, you somehow managed to make it through what should have been one of the deadliest falls known to man."

That rich Skywalker blood and swirling Force that surrounded it must be to thank, and blame, for his survival. The very thought of that name made him unbearably upset and filled with rage; the fear of what that name could represent made him begin to resent it. Maybe one day he could learn to accept and embrace the name of his past – but for now, it was dashed aside, crumbled back deep in the tiniest cracks of his brain, only to be reviewed when the time was right and he had healed. For now, he was just a foolish boy that was way in over his head that was lucky enough to still be alive; that was a description he was willing to humbly accept.

"There must be someway-"

But before Skywalker could finish his thoughts, the floor beneath him opened up, the metallic grate that supported him caving him and sending him flying downwards into another tunnel, this one far too steep to slow his decline. There was an opening of great light before him, splintering into his eyes so quickly that he couldn't have time to react – before he knew it, his body was flung out into the chilled gasses and clouds of Bespin. Luke flew right into a pipe suspended beneath the city and he instinctively thrust his hips in the direction of it, wrapping his legs tightly around it, and taking the pain of his groin slamming straight into the metal.

Against all odds, with all air sucked right out of his gut, his legs and knees supported himself as his upper body succumbed below, holding him in place and securing him from an endless fate. He opened his eyes to face the returning winds, watching the clouds float and merge around one another, sifting through the planet as a controlling force and ready to absorb anything alien. Luke watched curiously as he felt his own mind separate from his body, feeling as though he had become one with the gusts that beat against his weathered skin.

There had to have been a reason he's survived this long.

Skywalker felt his soul jump straight back into his body as something above him tumbled downward and his eyes opened wide in horror as it continued to spin out of sight – he wasn't quite sure what it was; a piece of machinery that succumbed to his own dead weight, the blaster that was once clipped to his belt, or the sickening visage of a lone hand grasping a lightsaber – but it was enough for him to comprehend the certainty of his own precarious fate the longer he chose to hang underneath the fragile weathervane.  
"Pull yourself together," he hissed at himself, heaving upwards and hoisting himself up the pipe, his thighs wrapped around it, clinging for dear life. If he fell down, surely that meant that there had to be a way back up. The Jedi looked around frantically. He had changed his mind. Before, he was ready to willingly give up his life if it meant that he could escape Vader; a quick death was better than a lifetime of torment as an instrument of evil. But this was different – now, he was just a lone soul, forced to either give in to an everlasting fall or to find the last budding strength in his bones to survive.

"But how?"

His eyes caught the open hatch above him, the suction of the tunnel spraying and pushing him from a few feet away. Luke got to his feet, balancing himself ever carefully onto the pipe, and reached up with his left arm to the hatch. His hand gripped it firmly, his nails scratching the metal as he breathed a sigh of relief; that sigh, unfortunately, turned to one of exhaustion and frustration quickly. Loud whining hummed out from the tunnel, flashing lights suddenly activated on the door as his hand clung to it, lifting up and closing due to the pressure.

"Hold on, hold on, hold-"

But it was futile. The door pulled away too fast and closed just as soon as he had discovered it, nearly knocking him off balance. He wrapped his arms around the pole, gritting through the pain of his right forearm. "There has to be some way," he reminded himself, burying his head into the thin weathervane that supported him. Hope was fleeting but surely there was something? That was what he always believed, even as a young boy; there was always something worth holding onto, worth believing, and worth fighting for.

"Ben," pleaded Luke, shocked at the gravely hoarseness of his voice. He knew it was a long shot – Ben Kenobi told him that he couldn't interfere – but he was growing desperate and fearful with every passing minute. He shut out everything that surrounded him, his fate, his location, his pain, his hope, embracing the living will of that teeming Force that he had only just begun to understand. "Ben, please," he moaned one last time, waiting for that warm and comforting voice to soothe him like when he was a child on Tatooine.

Only he wasn't a child on Tatooine anymore – he was a man, a wounded and lonely man, that was quickly losing time and hope. Luke shook his head as he stared back up at the closed hatch. If his mentor couldn't heed his call, he would have to find another method of survival. The Jedi started to pull himself upward as he threw his left arm into the air, gripping onto an instrument just below the grate. "Hold on," he repeated to himself, trying with all his might to climb back up.

His body betrayed his mind. He couldn't blame his tired muscles, their cramps and aches a reflection of this great struggle, but that didn't stop him from cursing under his breath as he slipped back down to where he started on this weathervane, his legs draped around the base of it as the rest of his body flung around like garbage in the wind. Time was out. Luke could sense the muscles in his legs slowly begin to give out, slipping away with the passing of every second.

There had to be someway – someway still. No matter how ridiculous, how bizarre. The Force had let him survive death three times this evening, surely it was not about to let his soul be claimed now. "Trust in the Force," he thought to himself, the wind that swished against his face growing more numb. "Reach out. Feel for something – feel for someone. You can still survive this, Luke. You are a Jedi. You.. you are a Skywalker. Trust the Force. Trust the impossible. Please, reach."

His eyes closed. Suddenly, it was as if his soul had landed inside the very cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. There was insane chaos as sounds of blaster fire rang behind their vessel, rocking them back and forth. Leia sat still, right in the middle of the cockpit, her eyes intent on the clouds before her. Luke took this time to float her way and whisper into her ear, plead for her to come and save him, make her sense his presence. The young Jedi did not know why the Force was telling him to contact her, nor did he much argue with it, but he knew that this was going to be his final shot.

"Leia," he said aloud. The woman twitched in her seat, her eyebrow lifting slowly as he whispered to his friend. "Hear me, Leia," Luke cried out one last time, the connection being broken between the two of them and sending him right back to his physical body. He didn't know how his legs were able to hold on for so long – if he were to make it through this, he was planning on letting them go through a nice long nap. "Come on, Leia," he said, struggling in a feeble attempt to pull himself back up.

But he kept slipping the more he tried.

"I must survive," Luke repeated in his head. There were so many reasons to keep on fighting – to prove his worth to his friends, to the Alliance, to repay his debts to his best friend, to finish the training he promised to complete, to right the wrongs that the Skywalker name had made, to keep the Jedi Order alive, to find out just who Luke Skywalker really was as a person.

"I must survive."

Beneath him, after several minutes had passed, the image of a familiar ship blasted through the sky. The youth felt his heart melt as he saw the outline of the Millennium Falcon dance across the clouds, dipping beneath the planet and zooming his direction. The hope he had held out for proved to be true. He closed his eyes and hit down on his lip, exhaling in delight as a single tear slid down his face. "You must survive," he repeated to himself, waiting for the ship to creep closer to him. He exerted the last remaining force in his legs to cling on for just one more minute, waiting for that final moment where he could finally let go.

Light shone out from the top hatch of the Millennium Falcon as it slid underneath him, the strange illumination of a man he had never met before standing outside the ship with his arms outstretched. "You must survive," he told himself, nodding to the man and closing his eyes as he let himself fall off the weathervane and into the arms of the man beneath him.

"I have to survive," Luke rehearsed to himself as strange arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close with warmth. "I have to," he said, refusing to let go of his mantra until he made it inside the Falcon and back into the arms of his friend. He shook as he felt his body give in to the deadness of it's weight, barely supported by this new face that held him up so carefully, that whispered kind phrases into his ear.

"You made it, kid," this man said, his fingers combing through Luke's matted hair as they descended into the bowels of the ship. "You've always made it back to the Princess," he said, holding him up with tender care as he directed him back to the cockpit.

Inside the cockpit, there were two familiar faces. His Wookiee friend growled with joy in his direction, maneuvering the vessel around the gasses of Bespin, looking for new ways to smuggle themselves out from the grasp of Imperial Forces. He smiled at the sound but turned his attention to the woman in white that ran his way. Luke smiled as he felt Leia throw herself to him, her arms wrapped around him. "Leia," Luke stated with the most relief he'd ever expressed in his entire life.  
"Luke," she whispered into his ear, her own voice just as relieved yet grave.

"I survived," he heaved out, as she began to head him towards the medical area of the ship, more to himself than anything else. He wasn't sure just what he was, nor whom he was, but he never felt more sure of his relief in being alive. There was still time to discover those things, to learn the truth about his dark lineage, to save his friend, to do all the things they had promised. Leia's warm touch reminded him of that. She led him to the bed of the wing of the ship, nursing him carefully as she dressed his wounds and lulled him to ease, letting him rest in peace on the makeshift cot.

Luke Skywalker survived. He closed his heavy eyelids as he felt the transfusions of bacta slip into his bloodstream, letting out a low groan as he let himself sink into the bed, allowing his body and soul to rest and prepare for the challenges and trials that would surely await him. He would make good on his promises, on his word, and he would save them.

"We'll survive - all of us."


End file.
